My oh my, politics are a circus wherever you go. In the US, we have political theater. In Brazil, they have political Carnival.

And so the campaigns continue, and we were lucky enough to witness and election caravan go down the street.

During Carnival, there are groups called blocos, which are neighborhood percussion bands that pick a neighborhood where they parade, and the band usually plays on top of an open air truck, which moves at a snail's pace on the parade route. Apparently, some candidates make their own blocos--without the bands--to campaign.

We witnessed Cristiane Brasil's caravan, which consisted of some 8 or 9 cars and vans, and her very own blocomobile, a big open truck complete with her in a huge widebrimmed hat and about 10 women wearing Brazil flag shirts waving big Brazil flags. The cars and vans were playing forro and Carnival music, and the vans were emblazed with the candidate's face and voting number. We stopped and stared, and Cristine, who is running for vereadora (councilwoman), waved at us, so I waved back, stupified by the whole spectacle.

I know I'm going to get a lot of crap for saying this, but if I could vote, I would vote for Fernando Gabeira for mayor. He's a really smart guy, very leftist, and very brave: he was a part of the underground resistance during the military dictatorship, and in his efforts, even helped kidnap the American ambassador to Brazil, when he was shot and then exiled for 10 years (as a result, he is banned for life from the US). He has a really awesome election website which you can check out here, which has a really interesting/frightening map of Rio, showing militia and drug gang territories. Plus, his website plays fun Brazilian music.

I was honored with a comment from the man himself, Don Blanquito on my post about him. I really didn't want to have to do another one of these this week, but this one is a lot more necessary than the last.

Dear Sir White Boy,

I never met you before in my life, so you must have me confused with someone else. There are, after all, a handful of American women living in Rio (I've lived here since June 2007). I did not intend to slander you on my blog, but merely posted your video for my readers to decide what they thought, and decide they did. That's what a lot of my blog is about, after all.

I think it's really ridiculous to argue who is more Carioca and who lives the "real" Carioca experience, because we both are, after all, gringos. Jewish, middle class, white gringos. We will never be Brazilian and we will never be Carioca.

While I respect the fact that you are trying to make your way in Rio (though it seems your IP comes from Paris), I find your music highly offensive, which is why I posted it, since I like to show how gringos see Brazil and the stereotypes they portray. I think that funk lyrics are offensive in general, so really it's not just you.

Since you clearly don't actually know me and took no time to look at my blog, I'll fill you in. You're unaware that I've lived here for over a year, scraping by, winding my way through the city each day. I teach ballet to favela kids and used to teach English to adults. I do what I can to pay the rent and have a little to have fun. My dream is to have my own non-profit that works with kids in Latin America and to be a published author, and to be respected and looked up to for being successful. My boyfriend is Carioca and his family is my Brazilian family. I speak fluent Portuguese and can usually get away without anyone knowing I'm a gringa.

So Don Blanquito, I wish you luck in your endeavors in Rio, though I'm not sure you actually live here. I hope that you learn that the Carioca experience is much more than favelas and funk, which you could from my blog.

Love,
Rio Gringa

I've written a lot about the poverty in Rio, how it is so much more in your face, so much grittier and dire than in many places I've been. One of the things about poverty in Brazil is that very frequently, beggars approach you, as opposed to sitting around waiting for others to come to them. Despite an open mind, my deeply ingrained American attitude inevitably flares up when these things happen.

The other day, Eli and I were eating lunch at a little outdoor cafe, minding our own business. All of the sudden, a man of unidentifiable age (maybe a teenager, maybe in his 20s), wrapped in a dirty blanket, barefoot and grimy, appeared at our table. "Can I have some of your food?" he asked.

Eli, who always thinks of others who have less, told him we'd wrap the little bit we had left and give it to him. So the guy skulked away to wait. The waiter brought us the food, and the guy reappeared at our table. Eli handed him a quarter can of Coke and the food. "Here you go," Eli said. The guy walked away without saying a word, stopping at another table, where a woman literally scraped the remaining food from her plate into his container. One of the restaurant managers shouted for him to go away. He ignored them, but went to the sidewalk, where he sat and hungrily shoved the food in his mouth.

The whole thing made me incredibly uncomfortable. There is nothing I hate more than beggars coming up to you while you're eating, which happens at any open air food establishment here, like a juice bar or boteco. I know how desperate and hungry the beggars are, but I can't help but feeling like I'm being violated somehow. I've been spending way too much on food as it is, and it's not like we have money coming out of our ears. I guess the American way of thinking is that not only do you pay for food, you pay for your space, which is temporarily yours while you sit there. Not only that, when you go somewhere to eat it's a time to momentarily forget about all of the problems outside--though in Rio, that's not always possible.

Finally, the lack of gratitude really gets to me. Eli and I frequently have our extra food wrapped to give to beggars, who always gladly accept it and sometimes thank us. After this guy interrupted our meal and Eli was still nice enough to oblige him, he didn't say a single word. Not thanks, not cool, nothing. He took it and stuck his face in it like an animal would. It's not our job or our obligation to feed anyone besides ourselves, and is simply generosity, plain and simple. This guy would starve if people weren't generous.

So you see why I feel conflicted: feeling angry at a starving man who just wanted to eat. I feel terrible for being annoyed, but feel annoyed nonetheless.

The moon is just a tiny sliver tonight, and never in my past year here have I seen it hover just next to Cristo, so that it looked as if he was holding the moon in his right hand. My camera isn't very high-tech, and I couldn't find Eli's before the moon sunk down below Cristo's feet. I have never seen anything like it before, and it lasted literally two minutes. I guess you'll just have to imagine it.

Eli and I have decided to flee the city and go on an adventure in Minas Gerais for the next few days. Since neither of us have started work yet, we thought we'd take advantage of the down time before things get really busy. We had to chose between the beach in Buzios and Minas, and since I haven't been to most of Minas yet, we decided it would be more fun to go to a new place. We still haven't found a place to live here yet, despite several good leads, and we both would kind of just like to get out of here for a bit. I've already pre-written the posts for the rest of the week, so there will be posts every day, and next week I'll devote some time to our trip.

Tchauzinho, Rio!

Today I went back to the ballet school to teach, and found a whole load of novidades.

First, the director warned me that she fired the ballet teacher for being incompetent, and I was just surprised it took her that long to notice. Apparently, she's now teaching most of the ballet classes, though due to her schedule she can't be there all the time. Awesome.

Next, I found that one of my top students, and one of the stars of the school, abruptly quit last week after some sort of petty argument. She's a super sweet, quiet girl, so I imagine it was either a bully, or her mom's beef with another parent or the administration. She was one of the nicest kids there. Awesome again.

Finally, I found that a bunch of Americans have begun volunteering there, one of which I met. Woo go gringos!

Other than that, everything was as expected. My kids were adorable and lovely, and were excited to see me. I got a new student, who actually studied at the professional school I'm training the kids to audition for, and she is just gorgeous. She's a gift for a ballet teacher. We had a great class, other than some obnoxious idiot woman who was hissing at me for a good 10 minutes before I finally turned to the window and she's like, "Do you do classes for little kids?" holding up her daughter. "You have to go to the administration," I told her (which is through the only door to the building, two feet away).

The best part of the day, though, was when my one boy in the class, who is wonderful, a diamond in the rough just waiting to be mined and put on stage, introduced me to his mom. It made me so happy to tell her that her son is talented and has real potential to go far. I think she already knew that, but it's always nice to hear someone say that about your kid.

I'm so glad to be dancing again and back with the kids. They inspire me, and make me feel useful. 

Lately, I've been responding to comments in the comments section, and deleting offensive ones. But I decided that I wanted to respond personally to this one, on my Don Blanquito post:

you're funny. i personally know don blanquito and you've got it all wrong. i bet you that you don't know 1/100th of carioca culture like he does. he does speak portuguese and is deeply entrenched in the rio culture. I had the time of my life with him and went into places that no "gringo, such as yourself" would ever be able to get into, the "reality" of rio. his name is in spanish becahuse he raps in spanish too prior to singing brazilian funk. you should do your research before you try to make people look bad. you're probably an undercover lesbian. have fun in rio, fake carioca! [Rich]

Dear Rich,

I'm sorry I offended your friend. It's just that he's really not very good, and promotes every stereotype about Rio and Brazil that help keep Rio entrenched in the problems it faces today. Your friend's Portuguese isn't very good and his view of Carioca culture is based on a tourist's view, not a Carioca's. I myself have been to places I'm sure YOU or your friend would never go--the suburbs of Rio, which can be more dangerous than the favelas themselves (where I have also gone many times). Also, I'm sure you went to concerts and went sightseeing, while you clearly don't realize that I LIVE the reality of Rio every single day. You could find this all out from bothering to read my blog, so why don't YOU do your research first?

Love,
Rio Gringa

PS. Are you a fourth grader? Your ignorance and immaturity are evident in accusing me of being a "undercover lesbian," so I just wanted to be sure you can understand the big words above.

Rio is a city that works best when the sun is out, so when it rains, you have to find stuff to do. Luckily, some of my favorite things to do in Rio don't require good weather, so it was a great weekend.

On Saturday, Eli and I slept in and hung out, and then went to eat shrimp at our favorite shrimp place at the mall, which I'd been craving all summer. From there, we went to buy movie tickets for the evening, stopped by one of my favorite bookstores (where I already spent a small fortune earlier this week), did a little food shopping, and then watched movies at home all afternoon. At night, we went to one of my favorite art house movie theaters and saw "Linha de Passe," and then went shopping at Brazil's answer to Bed Bath and Beyond (at midnight!) where we picked up the remaining things our landlord told us we could buy and discount from our rent (since our lovely landlord took them out of the apartment). Since they were having a blowout sale, we got ourselves a blender and bought Christmas presents way ahead of time. That's how we roll. Then we made dinner at 1am and bundled up against the 60 degree cold.

On Sunday, we were slugs. All day. And I see nothing wrong with that, as long as we don't do it forever.

News

• Sounds of Little Brazil, Bursting with Pride (Did any of you go?), NYT
• A Funny Kind of Reward [Petrobras to change exploration rules], The Economist
• Militia Violence Risks Spreading in Rio, Reuters (you're a few months late, guys)
• Resurrecting Rio: The Fight to Revive Brazil's Legendary City, Newsweek

I thought this was a pretty good story, though I don't appreciate the use of so many hyperboles, which makes the facts sound less believable. Also, it sounds like the finance secretary is really the hero, and Serginho is just the pretty face face that's taking the credit.

Blogs

• Mundo Pequeno, a directory of blogs of Brazilians living abroad
• Liberal, Libertario, Libertino: a Brazilian in New Orleans (excellent writing, in Portuguese)

Books

• And Then We Came to an End, by Joshua Ferris: There is nothing more refreshing than reading a novel written with a clear voice and vision. This author hit the nail on the head about what it's like to work in corporate America, and made it entertaining, too.

Movies

• The Namesake. I originally saw it awhile ago, after reading the book, and saw it again recently. The movie translated a little cheesily, but I love the story, which is about immigration and leaving your country and family behind, as well as appreciating your parents.

Eli and I attended a pre-screening of "Linha de Passe," the new Walter Salles film that made headlines at Cannes. We went to the only show at an arthouse theater nearby, and I nearly fell out of my seat when Vinicius de Oliveira, one of the stars of the film, wandered in with a movie theater employee to introduce the movie. (I looked around to see if anyone else was as shocked or excited as I was--they weren't. Wtf?) Vinicius is famous for his role in "Central Station," when he blew everyone away at age 12. [What's "Central Station?" you ask. It's an amazing Brazilian movie that was nominated for an Oscar and if you haven't seen it, go rent it please.]

So here you have it, the exclusive review of Linha de Passe. [No spoilers] It's slated for release in Canada and the UK in September, so I expect a US release sometime soon as well. Here's the website for the UK film.

The film is about a Sao Paulo family, a single mother and her four sons: two are grown, and one is a motoboy (bike messenger), and the other is a fanatical Evangelical who works nights at a gas station. The two younger ones are an aspiring teen soccer player and a grade school kid, the only member of the family who is black. The mother is pregnant and works for a very wealthy woman cleaning her house. All of the actors are excellent, particularly Sandra Corveloni, who plays the mother, and Kaique Jesus Santos, who plays her youngest son.

I love Walter Salles for two reasons: the first, that he finds beauty where no one else could, and second, that he tries to capture the perspective of the characters, so that the audience feels as if they are walking in their shoes. Incidentally, he directed "Central Station," which very successfully captured a part of Brazilian society unfamiliar to international audiences. "Linha de Passe" lacks the strong script and engaging story that "Central Station" had, but is a different kind of movie. This film is like looking through one of those lookout binocular machines at one family and seeing what their lives are like. It's a snapshot of suburban Brazil, where poverty may not be as acute as in the favelas but is no less devastating. It's a glimpse of how millions of Brazilians live and struggle every day. It's one of the answers to "Why are things the way they are in Brazil?" Above all, it's damning.

It condemns Brazilian society for the exploitation and poor treatment of the underclass by the upper class. It condemns religion and faith, specifically evangelical Christianity. It condemns promiscuous sex and absent fathers. It condemns the status quo, which benefits only the wealthy and puts the poor in a cycle of debt. It condemns racism and discrimination and greed.

The movie is innately Brazilian in that it's kind of disjointed and dizzying, but eventually comes together. Also, soccer is the lifeblood of the movie, the thread that ties it all together, just like in Brazilian society. This film uses a weird array of camera angles so that the audience feels like they are tagging along with the characters, or even seeing through their eyes. It manages to say a lot by saying a little, communicating larger themes with subtlety and demonstration. The whole film is darkened by a cloud of foreboding, like the haze of smog over Sao Paulo.

This is not an action movie, or a love story, or a documentary. It's an opportunity to see how millions of Brazilians live, in a way that only Walter Salles has ventured before. It's a response to all of the media hoopla about the strong Brazilian economy and the countless families lifted out of poverty. It's part of the why behind urban violence and the cycle of poverty. It's a chance to see the way things really are without having to venture into those rundown neighborhoods and underbelly areas yourself.

My favorite moment in the movie, the most poignant, was when one of the brothers carjacks an SUV with the driver inside. They pull into an empty field, and the wealthy victim is literally shivering with fear, expecting to be killed at any moment. The brother uncovers his face, and screams at the man: "Look at me, playboy! Look at me!" The driver slowly turns to him, trembling, and looks into his eyes. The brother stares at him desperately, tears welling in his eyes, and that one look communicates the entire heart of the movie, and one of the core societal conflicts in Brazil.

I only got 80% correct on this sample U.S. citizenship test...meaning I didn't pass. Apparently most Americans don't pass the test, which is really funny that we subject our immigrants to a test with information that we ourselves don't know.

Ahh, America.

That's how long Eli and I spent at the Federal Police on Thursday. And neither of us has spontaneously combusted.

Due to my visa type, I am required to register with the police in the first month I spend in Brazil. So I wanted to get this over with. We took the bus to the airport, where the PF immigration HQ is located, and got there in about an hour, which was impressive. Every other time I've had to go there, it's been practically empty and I got in and out in no time. Today, however, I got to experience the real joys of Brazilian bureaucracy.

We walked in to the station, which is divided into the Brazilian passports section and the foreigners section. I got my number and saw the current number was 12 behind mine and not moving at all, so I decided to do the efficient thing--walk myself over to the fingerprinting stand and get that part done with ahead of time. There are, of course, no signs telling you this, which would help the line move faster--you just have to figure it out for yourself. While I was getting fingerprinted by a very funny cop, I turned around and there was my American friend, also there to register. Only she had been there two times before without any luck.

So we all sat around chatting and at about 2:15 they called my number, and I practically danced into the office. A very friendly guy took my papers and we made small talk (a must, apparently, at the Federal Police, who just love chatting and are not exactly what you would call "fast"). After he'd fiddled with my papers, he sent me back out to wait for my passport. At about 3, I was called and finally free to leave.

Except I have to go back to pick up my supposed ID card. That is, if it's ready in time. The cop told me that sometimes people leave the country before their cards are ready. So why did I pay R$200, exactly??!!

We took the bus back, and the obvious cure for not eating all day long and for suffering through the five hours at the police station was clearly a trip to our favorite churrascaria. The food there has never tasted so good.

While the United States has whipped itself into a frenzy with the conventions, Rio, in the meantime, is gearing up for city elections. The process is profoundly weird to me, so I thought I'd share.

The elections are for mayor and borough presidents (bairros, in Rio's case), and once you step onto the street you are flooded with ads. Since it is illegal to hang up big posters, you'll find a person holding, standing behind, or crouching under every single poster, where they stay all day long. For some reason, a person holding the poster isn't illegal, but a poster all by its lonesome is. There are people with their posters on corners, in the middle of the street, and on highway medians. In the favelas, there are illegally posted signs on homes, as well as simply written ads with the candidate's name and voting number.

Ahh, the voting number. This is the really weird part. Each candidate has a five or six digit number, and once the voter decides on his candidate, he must memorize or write down the number to bring with him to the polling booth, where he must punch in the number for his choice on the voting machine. Some candidates are giving out business cards with their information on them to make less work for the voters, but it's still up to people to have the numbers on hand when voting. Not only that--voting is mandatory, so if you fail to show up at the polling station, you lose some of your rights, like applying for public jobs and getting a passport.

On Brazilian channels, there are tons of election commercials, which usually feature a talking head, his voting number, and either a person doing sign language in one corner or text scrolling along the bottom of the screen. All the ads kind of look the same to me--let's take Rio back, let's stop the violence, let's spend more on education, let's save our city. Yadda yadda.

However, the Brazilian government came out with a series of ads with the motto: "Four years is a long time," where they show people afflicted with an annoying problem that last four years (like having a bad politician in power for four years). One woman can't stop walking in circles when she's late; another guy has a bee caught in his ear, and my favorite, a guy tap dances when he's nervous (below). I think they are great, and I wonder what a Bush-like affliction would be.

The best ad I've seen so far, however, was not on TV but on the bay. We spotted what appeared to be a house boat near the bridge off the Ilha do Governador, but it was actually less of a boat than a small house-like structure on a large plank, with a big Brazilian flag, a guy in a rocking chair, and a simple sign with a candidate's name and voting number scrawled in black. (Incredibly, I found a photo of it before they put the sign up--it's the green structure in front of the trash/kayak/whatever is behind it).

I told my friend about Don Blanquito, and she told me about MC Gringo, who has quite an interesting story.

Born Bernard Hendrik in Germany, MC Gringo's parents died when he was quite young, and as a young adult he wound up in Brazil, where he fell in love and married a Brazilian. They lived in Minas Gerais before moving to Rio in 2004, where he fell for funk music. He became a funk singer, though he had a lot of trouble breaking into the genre since he is a gringo. Since then, he's become a genuine funk star, has performed on several national TV shows, and recorded an album (Gringao! ha). He lives in Rocinha, the biggest favela in Rio, so he not only sings about favela life, but really lives it.

You can see a six minute clip from a documentary about MC Gringo below and an interview here, which both have English subtitles so everyone can enjoy.

I have respect for this guy (unlike a certain other gringo funkeiro), since he speaks Portuguese and really has Brazilianized. He seems to respect and love Brazilian culture and clearly wants to be a part of it. But I just don't think he's very good. No offense.